


Catching Shadows

by SoftLullaby



Series: Gwenna Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gwenna Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftLullaby/pseuds/SoftLullaby
Summary: In the moments since losing her mother, Gwenna Hawke sought the refuge and silence of her own home, prepared to grieve the loss. Unbeknownst to her, Fenris was lying in wait, a startling confession on his mind.





	Catching Shadows

__ And when forever's slipping through my arms again   
I dive inside me   
I know I'll find a way to hold on 'til the end   
The dark won't blind me   
This burden's on my back   
Feels like it's got me trapped   
But I'm gonna keep on trying   
I'll go on reaching till the world is in my hands   
I'm catching shadows

 

Gwenna felt herself falling, tumbling hopelessly into oblivion. 

Once, not so very long ago, she might have withdrawn. She might have grasped at what strength she could muster, simply to wear the brave face. Once, she might have tried to remain outwardly calm and collected. It was her way, to be the face of serenity. She was, after all, the one everyone looked to for support. How could she be that support when her own legs would not hold her weight?

At last, the visage crumbled, well after her unsteady footfalls carried her past the walls of Amell Estate. At last, she was within the confines of her own home. At last, she sank toward the floor, her entire body suffused in tremors. At least here, there would be no one to think less of her. No one to witness her weakness, her imperfection.

But did it really matter what they thought? Gwenna could not help the bitterness which crept upon her, slicing through her like a dull kitchen knife. It was a long, drawn out thing, a painful agony ripping and tearing at her. Yet she could not regret the thought. She had been so strong for all of them. She had carried them when the weight of their own troubles threatened to topple them. She had kept them standing, a healer in more ways than one.

And yet, not a single one of them was there for her when she needed them most. No, Gwenna Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, was well and truly alone.

Tears seeped past flaxen eyelashes as she barely managed to drag herself to her feet. Her hands sought the wall, using its stability to steady herself. Several agonizing moments ticked by as her feet carried her toward her bedroom. There, she could fall. She could crumble. Perhaps she could even shatter. And no one would be the wiser.

"Who will pick up the pieces if you do shatter?" a voice taunted her in the back of her mind, and Gwenna bit back the sob. No one, of course. Not Aveline. Not Varric. And, oh, certainly not Fenris. Maker, he hated her, and all for something she had never chosen in the first place.

Not that she would forsake it. Gwenna was proud of what she had accomplished with her gift. Her healing prowess had surpassed even Anders' ability, and she would never change that, not in a million years. For all the suffering she had endured, if it was in her power to spare others the same pain, well, she would do all she could. Without complaint, and with a smile upon her face.

That was who she was, after all. Who she had become.

Now, though, nothing would ever be the same again. So much loss and hardship in such a small span of time, and she had not given herself a moment to grieve. So caught up in healing others, in mending the broken - saving the world - and she had not taken so much as a single moment for herself. Her heart was in ribbons, and she feared she would never again recover.

Drawing a shaky breath, she at last pushed past the threshold and into the privacy of her own room. Amell Estate was nearly silent, almost deafeningly so, and yet it was not until she had found her way into her chambers that Gwenna felt safe enough to drop the veneer of calm. Tears threatened, stinging the corners of her eyes, and she prepared herself for the onslaught.

Yet, as she closed the door behind her, she realized she was not alone. A lone figure stood in silence, facing the fireplace as the flames flickered and danced past the wrought iron grate.

"Fenris?" she whispered as recognition sent a tremor through her small, slight frame, swaying on her feet a bit. She watched as his lean frame stiffened and felt an answering tightness in her abdomen. She pressed a fist against her stomach, fearing that a single step away from the door might send her spiraling to the floor. "What… what are you doing here?"

He did not turn to face her and she felt her stomach fall to her knees; the very knees which were still struggling to keep her standing. Gwenna could only imagine what this conversation would be, and she knew she had no heart for it. She had no strength to fight with him. He would rant about the evil of mages, even though  _ she  _ was a mage herself. She had no will for what would come, and found herself sagging against the door, her hand resting limply upon the frame.

When Fenris at last turned to face her, the softness in his haunted gaze caught her off guard, and her breath stilled within her lungs. She swallowed past the lump which had formed in her throat, unable to tear her eyes from him. For the first time, he did not look upon her with that seething distrust, as if she were some awful thing to be hated. No, instead, his gaze was almost gentle. "Hawke," he whispered, crossing the distance between them in several strides. "I… didn't know if I should come. This is… Well. Your room, I suppose. And it's a very nice one." He laughed, although it was a short, nervous laugh, and he lifted a hand to rake it through his stark white hair.

And yet he gave Gwenna no time to react. His laughter halted as abruptly as it had begun, and he stared down at her, eyes blazing in a manner which made her incredibly dizzy. If not for the door at her back her knees might have buckled. "I can't get you out of my head," he growled, a fierce note in his words. "I tried. Nothing works. It's just… you. There. Everywhere. It's maddening."

"I… I am sorry," Gwenna managed to respond, her voice weak, yet the words were still heartfelt. "I never meant for you to suffer. I wish I could help…" And yet, the words were ridiculous. How could she possibly wish to help? She could not make him forget her, so what, then? What could she possibly hope to do for him? She slipped to the side, turning her back to him, folding both arms beneath her breasts. It was a defensive stance, for even with his confession, still she was wary of him. She was vulnerable, grieving - here, now, he could hurt her, and deeply, if he truly wished to. And so she was wary of him, wary of the hurt he might cause, yet at the same time, she wished somehow to assuage his, impossible though that might be.

Several moments went by before Gwenna again spoke, and when she did, the words were quiet. "I know what you think of mages, and I know… that I am no more favorable. I know it must pain you to have someone like me in your mind. I would never have wished this upon you. I… I am sorry, Fenris."

"Don't," he said. It was a low, quietly spoken word, one which sent shivers tracing down the length of Gwenna's spine. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her back and she paused before slowly turning about to face him once more. He was watching her, his gaze stormy and broken.

In that instant, she could not help herself. She stepped toward him, reaching out a hand, slender fingers stretching toward him. It was purely instinctive; she was a healer, after all, and she longed to heal what had been broken. Tears formed in her eyes as she very gently touched the edge of the tattoo on his face. He flinched and she nearly wept, so certain that she had hurt him. She could not stand the thought of causing him pain, and so she stepped away from him, intending to draw her hand back.

That was when he reached for her.

Fenris took her hand into his own, the warmth in his searing her skin. "Look at this," he said softly as he turned her slender hand palm up, his eyes lifting to peer into the rich, warm brown of the mage's. The gentleness which met his own gaze caused his chest to tighten, tears threatening beyond the corners of his eyes; gentleness was not something Fenris was accustomed to - and certainly not from a mage. But Gwenna surprised him constantly, proving him wrong in ways he had never imagined. "What do you see, Gwenna?"

He saw her breath catch in her throat and could not stifle a smile. She had always been Hawke. No one called her Gwenna, no one used her given name. It was something deeply touching, he could see that. Could see it painted in the warmth of her gaze. Yet to that end she said nothing, instead letting those very eyes fall upon the hand he held. He watched her brow knit in confusion. "It is a hand," she mused softly. "More specifically mine..."

"Yes. It is. Your hand, Gwenna. The hand of a mage." His finger began to trace the lines on her palm, an uncommon tenderness in it. "You think I hate you, and it pains you. I can see that." He tried to keep his words gentle as he spoke to her, and it was difficult, considering the wealth of emotion behind them. "You think I hate you as I do the rest of the lot. I admit, I wanted to. But… I couldn't." His thumb continued the absent caress as he considered the weight of his own words.

"There is a difference between you and those who held me captive," he explained quietly, wanting - no,  _ needing  _ her to understand. "Your hands... are gentle. I've never seen you unleash your magic in fury. Nor have I seen you shed blood. Instead, I see… a healer. You heal. Me, Aveline, Varric - even the blood mage, Merrill. You don't cause harm. You do not wound. You  _ heal _ .

"And that is your merit, Gwenna. That's your beauty. I've never met another mage like you, and I doubt I ever will again."

The words lingered between them for several long, aching moments, and Gwenna found she could say nothing in response. Words simply would not come, because she had no idea what had sparked this confession. Nor did she know what it meant for the two of them. She peered searchingly into his gaze but found his eyes to be entirely unfathomable.

Yet the next moment he leaned toward her, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss, and all thoughts fled her mind.

In that moment, nothing existed outside the pair of them. His lips upon hers were not demanding, nor were they violent. Instead, they were gentle, coaxing, questioning. As if to ask if it was alright to kiss her like this. Even so, there was no denying the depth of emotion which lingered on the simple touch of their lips, rather like a tempest hovering just out of sight.

With a single, bracing sigh, she parted her lips against his and lifted her free hand to gently cup the side of his face with her palm. He groaned and she felt it vibrate through him. The sensation brought an answering tremor through her entire body, and she felt herself melt completely against him.

Though the grief was far from forgotten, Gwenna realized she needed this. She needed  _ him.  _ The man she had begun to love, a man she had thought forever denied to her. In the span of only a few moments, he had brought to life the very part of her which had lain dormant for so very long. He was awakening her, bit by bit, bathing the shadows of her soul in his luminescence.

She felt whole. For the first time in a long time, she felt complete.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be written out of order as different scenes come to me.


End file.
